Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
The story would not be stoppered now. The tale of her descent into madness poured out of her. She thought she might have been ashamed to share it, mortified by the weakness, but Shaw’s earnest gaze brimmed with compassion and concern. She wanted him to know.
At its end, she felt entirely wrung out again. Emptied of any energy she’d regained from Shaw having broken into her bedroom. For he had broken in. He’d picked the lock.
“Nothing about this sounds right.”
“Of course it doesn’t sound right,” she huffed. “What madness would?” Lux rubbed at her temples to ward off the headache she could feel brewing. She hadn’t realized how brutal the tension in her body had grown until she’d been mended by Artemis’s injection. But already it returned.
They sat together on a thick rug before the hearth—her bedchamber only possessed a single armchair—and Lux couldn’t help from leaning her weight against Shaw while they spoke. His arm draped over her shoulder, keeping her close.
It felt very much like…
Home.
“These collectors—Lux, they’re the buyers.
We discovered a bill of sale, between the mayor and some “Society of Saints”.
They’d labeled the product as ‘Time’ and the amount paid was beyond any amount of money I’ll ever see, except it hadn’t been fulfilled.
Then the invitation arrived. The Tamishes weren’t surprised.
Morana said her uncle attended every year—until he was swallowed by a tree—but she swears she doesn’t know more.
Only that it was business dealings. And it was, I suppose. Just the worst sort.”
Lux shoved upright, though she immediately lamented the loss of Shaw’s arm. “But why? They’re already cursed to never age.”
Except somewhere between her question and Shaw’s exclaim of disbelief, she thought of Mistress Lefroy.
The woman she’d revived had known the collectors by name, had been intimate enough to be carted off for an entombing.
To a sanctum below stairs and one of those shrouded beds. She had been labeled an investor.
And what greater thing to spend one’s life’s earnings on than a second lifetime.
Lux splayed her hands over her cheeks. “Devil’s tits.”
But it seemed Shaw hadn’t yet recovered from what she’d said. “Curses are nightmare tales. Blood brilliances. I didn’t think they existed.”
“Maybe they don’t. I certainly don’t know real from fake anymore.” She stared blearily into the fire. “This madness… Of course it would find me.”
Shaw’s fingers slipped through hers, dragging her hand from her cheek until it was tucked within his. “Tell me something.”
Lux drew a deep breath and sighed with all her pent-up weariness. “What would you like to know?”
Her chest hitched when he didn’t immediately speak, guiding the back of her hand to his mouth, instead. Rather than kiss it as she expected, he spoke against her skin. His breath warmed her through.
“Tell me why you are always so quick to believe you are broken.”
“I—”
Except there were no more words after that.
Why did she?
Well…of course she would believe it. The label felt like slipping on her well-worn corset. She’d spent most of her life broken. It was the easiest thing to take up the mantle again once more.
“Because I’ve been before,” she finally managed. “It’s who I am, Shaw.”
Shaw shook his head. Honey-gold strands tumbled into his eyes.
“You weren’t broken. Not even then. Everything I know you to be has always been there: that goodness, that loyalty.
That desire for justice which matches my own.
That is who you are, Lux. It doesn’t mean you’re broken if you’re only buried. ”
Lux’s eyes held his. Even though he did not blink. Even though hers welled. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I don’t like to say it, but I am.”
“I know.” Now he did kiss her fingers. “But you can’t lose hope yet. I demand it, actually, and we both know you’re always quick to do as I say. It doesn’t make sense; the timeline is too suspicious.”
She dug a retaliatory nail into his hand until his nose wrinkled. “But I told you about that bandit’s revival.”
“Yes. And you told me about how it energized you afterward. Tell me, what sort of madness makes a person feel alive? Where’s that oversized book of yours? It must have some sort of note in there to explain.”
“On the writing desk. You won’t find anything. I already looked.”
Shaw abandoned her side anyway, and she physically cringed at the loss of his warmth.
Maybe she’d become accustomed to the coldness of these walls, or maybe it was the yawning loneliness she’d decided to embrace again, but regardless of how acclimated she’d grown, it was decimated now. She couldn’t go back.
“What is this?”
“Hmm?” She glanced to where he stood near the balcony door, her pack open and a prettily wrapped book in his grip. “Oh! A gift. For you. I bought it in Loxlen. From the Mothlock booksellers.”
Shaw’s eyes remained on her as the wrapping came free. They dropped to the black spine. His finger ran carefully along the length and Lux bit into her cheek. “This is a book of art.”
“I’d wanted to find you one. Something that would maybe teach you as mine taught me.” I hope he isn’t offended. She didn’t think he would be.
And she was proven correct when his head lifted, grinning at her with wonder. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received. Or even imagined for myself. Thank you.”
Lux couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped over her triumph. At least I’ve accomplished one thing. Her smile was slow to fade, but it did fall away entirely when he added, “Your book isn’t in here.”
A distant buzzing echoed in her ears. Lux scrambled to her feet and raced to the bag where she dug through its depths.
She flipped it over, shaking its contents onto the desk.
Writing utensils. Flint. Twine. Paper and coins.
They tumbled and scattered. A berry rolled free at the end.
Followed by a feather. Lux watched it float to the lacquered wood below.
“No. It must be here.”
“Maybe you stowed it in the dressing room?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve left it in the same place for weeks. Since I left Ghadra.”
She could feel Shaw’s stare against her profile.
“Did any of them know?”
“They didn’t. I never said a word about it. Maybe they assumed? But even so—oh, devil take her. That conniving wench!”
Shaw blinked in alarm. “Who?”
Lux tore at her hair. Her teeth clenched so hard she was sure they’d crack.
She hissed, “That bandit. Their leader. Magda.” She couldn’t hear Shaw’s response, and maybe it was for the best. She could make no room for anything but the roaring in her ears.
“She knew of it. I stupidly told them of it. Why I did… No, I heard the name Alesso that night. I can’t believe I didn’t recall it until just now.
She knew the name of their dead leader. She knew the name of—”
“He is my brother.”
Devil take her. Their current one?
Corvin Alistair. Corvin Alesso? He could never be Mothlock’s mysterious overlord…
could he? The boy whom she’d assumed was hardly a man but had been cursed to never age.
Their voices hadn’t matched while she’d been sequestered within that cart in the healer’s workroom, but of all the things she’d witnessed thus far, the ability to harness two distinct voices hardly seemed far-fetched.
“They’re going to destroy it,” she said.
“Why would they do that?”
“Because how else can they dole out their tampered copies if the real one still exists? Even if they don’t destroy it outright, they will lock it away in their vault where it’ll never again be opened. Where I will never—” Lux shoved her fingers into her eyes. “I can’t believe he took it.”
“Tampered copies?”
The cover of Brilliant Brushstrokes fell open in Shaw’s hands. He scanned the pages long enough that Lux recovered. She came to peer curiously around his arm.
It really was a stunning work of art in itself.
The pages were not regular paper but coated in thin gloss.
There will be no notetaking in this. The script wasn’t like anything she’d seen either.
The letters were pristine, blocked, and while they were devoid of personality, the uniformity was simple to read and orderly.
The character came instead from the illustrations: a mix of black and silver, all of them.
Depicting everything from instructions to samples to nondescript flourishes she could find no meaning for. And saints.
Full pages were dedicated to them, faceless and sprawling. Lux curled her lip at the note beneath the illustration Shaw turned to.
“Dedication to the Saints will overcome all limits.” She huffed. “That cannot possibly be in the original. I’m sorry. If I’d known it wasn’t a true edition, I wouldn’t have bought it for you.”
She glanced at the opposite page.
To serve the Saints with one’s brilliance is to be blessed into the Beyond.
Shaw thumbed through the pages, passing topics of portraits and poses, until he paused over an illustration with a sharp intake of air. Lux’s mouth formed a perfect circle.
“What is that?”
But the answer came from the writing below and Shaw’s mouth, both. “The devil.”
The Devil will devour those who do not honor the Saints, casting them into a wretched ending.
Shaw brushed the pad of his thumb over a wide horn. A sagging, grotesque face. “It reminds me of what I painted during my worst nights. I burned them all.”
Maybe we should burn this too, Lux thought.
She said, “What good does this messaging do? Is this what’s to become of The Risen? For saints to be drawn into its pages, demanding some sort of hurdle be jumped before any successful revival? For the devil to make you fear any mistake? I can’t allow it.”
Shaw didn’t answer her but flipped to the end.
Property of Mothlock
For the purpose of achieving a fulfilled enlightenment
“May Your Mastery Be Limitless”
“What is his brilliance? This Corvin Alistair.” Shaw looked down his shoulder at her.
“I’ve not asked.”
Shaw grumbled something she didn’t catch. He returned to the fireplace, but this time he took the solitary chair. There, he sat in silence and worried his lip. His elbows rested on his knees, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The book lay forgotten in his lap.
Lux watched him for a moment. How the firelight coaxed every strand of gold in his hair into shimmering.
How his brow furrowed above a deepening scowl.
She did not mind being alone, but she would gladly never feel loneliness again for the rest of her life.
She didn’t think she would—if she was able to keep Shaw in it.
She stepped near him and bent to take the book. She wanted to peruse it closer. To see what other messages might lurk inside. Shaw allowed it to leave with hardly a shift, and she turned away.
A strong arm looped around her waist upon her next step; her breath hitched. With her next heartbeat, Shaw dragged her backward and into his lap. He pulled her higher, situating her as he wanted, and only then did he lean back, stretching his long legs out before him.
Lux noted his fingers tracing slow patterns on her thigh.
“I have something to tell you,” he said, the words rumbling against her back. “But I don’t want to.”
The statement should have seen her straightening, but she couldn’t. Shaw’s warmth permeated through her nightgown, and the fire flickered blessedly across her front. It would take more than words to move her now. But she did close her eyes. Her nails sank preemptively into her palms.
“Of course you do. What is it?”
His chest pressed against her back with his deep breath, and Lux’s stomach twisted further.
Shaw’s voice softened as he said, “I left Ghadra for two reasons: to infiltrate the Society of Saints at their invitation, and to hopefully encounter you along the way. Before leaving, I checked in on the only two trees I cared to.”
He paused.
Lux could feel his hesitation; it seeped into her. She shifted enough so she might scan his eyes. They were too anguished, she thought, and her stomach became a pit of fear. “And?”
“Riselda is alive.”